


A Shameful Idea

by anotherfngrl



Series: The Great Glamping Adventures of Two Ineffable Idiots In Love [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Embarrassment, First Kiss, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfngrl/pseuds/anotherfngrl
Summary: They have all the time in the world, and no one watching over their shoulders from Home Office anymore. What shall they do with it?Aziraphale's a little embarrassed by just how he'd like to spend their 'retirement'.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Great Glamping Adventures of Two Ineffable Idiots In Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202432
Kudos: 43





	A Shameful Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imaginarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginarium/gifts).



> OK, guys, this is the launch of the 'Glamping' Series!!! It's totally ridiculous and self indulgent, but we will be having more glamping fics. Thank you to Imaginarium for inspiring me to write more!

"I can't, Crowley."

"And pray tell, why not, Angel?" the tempter asks, tapping his fingers impatiently against the table.

Aziraphale leans in and whispers, feeling scandalous even discussing it. "Well, it just isn't  _ done, _ is it dear?"

"It bloody well can be, Angel, that's what I'm trying to tell you!" Crowley insists, voice rising in frustration. Aziraphale looks around, feeling awkward. Other dinner guests are beginning to watch them with various degrees of concealed fascination and concern.

"I think we should go," he says, standing up-regretfully leaving his dessert sitting on the table, along with his coffee- and hastily walking toward the exit.

Crowley, who has less scruples about whether paying with miraculous money is stealing, stays long enough to set down money to cover their tab, as always. The odd squawking noise he makes as he does so only draws more attention to them, and Aziraphale walks faster.

Crowley catches up with him on the sidewalk. "Angel! Angel I'm sorry! Don't leave me, I won't mention it again, I promise, just come back!" he pleads, coming to a stop behind Aziraphale when he pauses for a crosswalk- which the angel heavily suspects had some help suddenly switching to red.

He winces at a near miss two cars have, adjusting for the sudden switch in the lights, frowning as he turns to face Crowley. "Crowley, we have  _ talked _ about the lights. You simply cannot risk the mortals' lives every time a traffic light inconveniences you! And you were causing a scene inside the restaurant."

Something seems to be wrong with Crowley. He normally brushes off Aziraphale's scolding, barely reacting. Today, he looks stricken. "I'm sorry, Angel, I'll put it back-"

"No!" Aziraphale yelps, concerned. "Changing it again will not help anything. Just let it resume its natural course, we're almost to the car."

"The car?" Crowley asks.

"Yes, dear. Your car? Which you drove to the restaurant? Crowley, are you feeling alright?" Aziraphale moves closer to his friend, feeling his forehead. Demons don't, as a rule, run fever like humans do (especially snake demons, who are cold blooded), but he feels the need to do some bit of caretaking, and it does give him a chance to look at Crowley's eyes, which have widened in surprise.

"I can drive you home?" he asks.

"I'd rather assumed the offer of a ride to dinner included a ride back, yes. I thought we would go back to the bookshop where it's more private to talk, unless you don't want to..." he says, trailing off uncertainly. Crowley  _ is _ behaving strangely.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Of course I meant to drive you home, Angel, yes, talking is good, we'll talk, I won't upset you anymore, I promise." Crowley is babbling.

Aziraphale looks his oldest and dearest friend up and down, concerned. "Crowley, love, are you quite sure you're alright?" he checks.

"Yes, yes, of course, look! The light says walk, we'd better go, important to follow crosswalks, you know, road safety and setting a good example for the children and all that," Crowley babbles, leading him toward the car with a hand on the small of his back.

Once they're buckled in, Aziraphale turns, taking advantage of the short drive to watch Crowley, hoping to figure out what's the matter.

Only... the drive isn't going as quickly as usual, because Crowley appears to be obeying  _ human _ traffic laws. He's watching for pedestrians, waiting for lights to change themselves- he even  _ signals _ before turning! Yes, something is most certainly wrong with his friend.

Aziraphale waits until they're in the bookshop, safely ensconced on the sofa with glasses of wine, before he broaches the topic again.

"Crowley," he begins.

His wily friend jumps immediately to his feet. "Angel, I'm sorry!" Crowley insists, cutting him off before he can speak.

"My dear, whatever for? You are in a state, and I am becoming concerned. Come sit with me and tell me what's happened," Aziraphale requests, patting the cushion closest to him. It's closer than is strictly  _ normal _ for them, but Crowley does look a bit peaked, and Aziraphale has found, since stopping the Apocalypse, that he quite enjoys the freedom to be a little closer to his demon than he would've considered strictly appropriate before.

Crowley does sit, but he sprawls at the far side of the couch, facing resolutely forward and away from Aziraphale. He also hasn't removed his sunglasses- something he almost always does as soon as they're alone in the bookshop, these days.

"Crowley, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you tell me what on earth has upset you so," Aziraphale says firmly.

"You left me. In the restaurant. Err, you left your dessert. You never do that," Crowley says, hastily correcting himself.

"Yes, people were staring. I thought this conversation might be better had in privacy, and we can always go back another night for cake," Aziraphale assures his friend.

Crowley looks at him quickly, sinking further into the sofa as he faces forward once more. "I thought you were leaving me there," he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

"Oh, dearest! Of course not. I'd thought you'd leave money for the check and follow me out. I admit I was a bit rushed, I was becoming embarrassed-"

Crowley crosses his arms across his stomach, wine glass settled empty and forgotten on the side table. Aziraphale thinks they both look rather lonely. "Didn't mean to embarrass you," Crowley whispers, sulky.

"I know you didn't, dear heart. I suppose my embarrassment was silly- people have looked at us before, for far more serious reasons. But I suppose I was a bit more embarrassed by the  _ content _ of our conversation," Aziraphale admits.

"Nothin' shameful about it," Crowley is still all knotted up on the far end of the sofa and the words sound dragged out of him. However embarrassed Aziraphale was, his hasty escape was not worth the distress it's obviously caused his friend.

"I know it isn't to the humans, dear. But it just isn't done by, well, my kind. I suppose that sort of pleasure is rather more reserved for those of your side," Aziraphale points out.

"We're our own side now, Angel, remember?" Crowley tells him, sulky.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. "Yes. Of course. You're right. We are. Which is all well and good, except I think perhaps what I want... it's a bit more than being on the same side. I don't just want to try this, Crowley. I want to try it  _ with _ you. I find I want to try a great many things with you. Everything, in fact. The future stretches out before us, endless with possibilities, and whichever way I look, whatever I envision, you are always there at my side. I suppose you will tire of me eventually, dear heart, but, though it is perhaps a failure of imagination, I fail to see my future without you."

Crowley doesn't answer.

Aziraphale examines his own hands for a long moment, nervous and embarrassed. He's confessed something, here. Something deeper, perhaps, than the surface, trivial wants they'd been discussing back at the restaurant. He's a fool- Crowley needn't have known. He's made his friend uncomfortable, he's ruined everything. He's an idiot-

He's being kissed.

It happens very slowly, and yet all at once. He feels Crowley's hand, soft on his face. He turns into it, eyes meeting yellow ones he's stared into so many times before. Eyes that have never looked so hopeful and yet so unsure. Then Crowley is moving closer, until he’s all Aziraphale can see.

Their lips meet, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted or hoped for. It’s magical. It’s not perfect- Aziraphale has had quite enough of austere perfection. It’s messy and strangely human and  _ real. _ It’s  _ them, _ together, after everything. Their side, their unholy alliance, their friendship.

It’s Crowley, clinging to his jacket as he breaks the kiss. Suddenly terrified the demon will retreat, Aziraphale grasps him in return. Crowley understands, resting their foreheads together instead of pulling out of the angel’s space. Aziraphale takes a wholly unnecessary breath as he struggles to come to terms with what has just happened.

“A kiss can reveal more than a declaration of love,” he quotes softly. Crowley had closed his eyes, but he opens them now, meets Aziraphale’s with naked need and hope and uncertainty, sitting back on his heels just enough that they can see each other’s faces.

Aziraphale loosens his grip on the other man enough to brush a lock of hair out of his face. “Something Oscar wrote once. I thought it silly- words are such a powerful expression, and humans seemed to kiss so carelessly. In greeting, in friendship, in lust. I think I understand, now.”

Crowley’s, “Rather,” comes out a bit strangled.

“I don’t want to presume, dear one,” Aziraphale begins awkwardly.

“There’s nothing I’ve ever tried I didn’t wish you were with me for,” Crowley confesses, the words all a rush. “Err, well, nothing good, anyway. I was quite glad you weren’t with me for the bad bits. Or, well, that’s not exactly true, is it? I wished you were there, but I didn’t want you in it. Just wanted you close, when I was miserable. Can never seem to be properly miserable when you’re close.”

“I understand completely,” Aziraphale agrees. He’s felt the same way.

Crowley picks at his trousers, looking down at the spot where their knees almost touch instead of Aziraphale himself as he says, “I’d like to show you everything I’ve ever tried that was worth doing. The bits you’re interested in, at least. And I’d love to try whatever you’re excited over. And have you with me for whatever new bits I dig up along the way.”

“That sounds perfectly lovely,” Aziraphale says quietly, encouraging Crowley to continue. He’d like to reach for the demon, to still the hand worrying away at the fabric of his denims, but he’s afraid to spook him. Crowley is a skittish creature, sometimes. For all Aziraphale has been hurt by an ideal of love that is perfect, remote, and utterly untouchable, Crowley has had the concept ripped from him entirely, has been taught to scorn and disdain such softness. He’s rubbish at it, of course- he loves his plants, and his silly throne, and he loves the Bentley dearly, and Aziraphale has liked to fancy that Crowley even loves him, a bit.

But declaring that love? Naming it and accepting it, living in the truth of it? That is something large and terrifying for a demon, and Aziraphale won’t press him if it’s not something Crowley can do.

“It would be perfect because I’d be with you,” Crowley says, looking up to meet his eyes, suddenly fierce. “Anything would be perfect as long as I was with you, Angel, and nothing’ll ever be half as good if I’m not.”

“I feel the same way, dear one,” Aziraphale admits, taking a risk and reaching out to cover Crowley’s nearest hand. The demon flips it to grasp his in return.

“I love you, Angel. Have done for ages, I reckon,” Crowley confesses, and Aziraphale leans forward to wrap him in a hug.

“And I you, my dearest one. I love you so,” Aziraphale tells his demon, pulling back just far enough to press their lips together.

Crowley smiles at him, delighted and impish. “Well, if we’re going to do that, then I don’t see why we can’t just do the whole thing and try out what you’ve been wanting to.”

Aziraphale can’t help smiling back, charmed. He suspects he could be talked into a great many things by that smile. Already has been, over the years. “It’s a sin, dear one. One of the Seven Deadly, in fact.”

Crowley scoffs. “Yeah, for mortals. Those rules never worked the same for us, Heaven’s  _ built  _ on Pride!”

Aziraphale demurs for a moment longer before nodding, giving in. “Alright, dear, if you’re really up for trying it with me. I am excited. We’ll need to go shopping for all of the supplies first, of course, and we’ll have to prepare…”

“Nonsense, you close the shop, I’ll hire a plant sitter, and we’ll go shopping tomorrow. ‘Slothfulness’ be damned-”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, dear,” Aziraphale reminds him teasingly.

“Hush. you. If you want to live like an old retired couple and go RVing up and down England’s countryside, then that’s  _ precisely _ what we are going to do, and no one, and I mean  _ no one _ had better have a cross word to say about it, or they’ll answer to me,” Crowley tells him firmly.

“We’re going ‘glamping’, oh, this is just thrilling!” Aziraphale beams. Then a thought occurs to him. “Crowley, do you suppose we ought to have a human wedding? So our friends know how we feel, of course, and so we aren’t ‘living in sin’.”

Crowley sputters at him.

“We can’t have it in a church, for obvious reasons, but maybe while we’re glamping we’ll find a lovely spot outside, and we can invite people down for a small ceremony. I think it would be rather lovely, don’t you?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley gasps. “Angel, you can’t just  _ say _ things like that!” he insists, looking winded. “But yes, since you’ve asked, I will marry you, you mad, daft, beautiful thing.”

“Crowley, I do believe this is the beginning of something beautiful,” Aziraphale says, nodding with a determined smile.

Crowley grins back at him. “You know what, Angel? I think you just might be right.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'd love to hear from you! What glamping adventures should they have? What did you think about their confessions/ first kiss?


End file.
